In Fields of Poppies
by SunshineDaisiesWindmills
Summary: Her grandfather's war and her father's war were fought with metal and manpower. Hers was done with magic.
1. Prologue: Her War

**AN: Here is the long awaited and much anticipated new story! (long awaited and much anticipated by me, mostly). Thanks to everyone who has helped me with this, Ashley, Ayesha, Beth, Todd, Alexa, Lyssa, Hannah, Louise, Mina, Emma, Kim and anyone I am forgetting because I have made a lot of people read this story and tell me that it's wonderful and encourage me because it was hard. **

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything you are familiar with. I actually own a lot of this though, which is strange.**

**Without any further ado, I present: **

**_In Fields of Poppies_**

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Her father's war was fought with tanks and guns. Bullets flew past him on an almost daily basis; the threat of a bomb falling was constant. He ran through the haze of metal with his men, his friends, his brothers, boys just barely old enough fighting for King and Country on the fields of France and the desert of northern Africa. He somehow came back unscathed. He spoke most often of the light, the awful, bright flashes of light that always preceded pain, or death, and if not for you, for you comrade, friend, brother.

Her grandfather's war was in the trenches. He lived in damp earth among the rats and bugs while tunnellers planted bombs beneath him, and aircraft dropped shells from above. He saw men blown to bits, and others devastated by disease that rampaged through the ranks. Limbs were stolen by guns or by doctors. Lives too. Sometimes, he would say, they lingered for a while before they died. They spoke of their mothers, or their sweethearts, or their children. It was better when they went quickly. The most surprising thing, he always said, was the noise. It was something you never forgot.

Her war was unlike anything her forefathers could imagine. There was no artillery, she didn't carry a gun. She didn't live in a trench, or in a camp, or in any form of barracks at all. She went home after her battles- they were fought on her homeland, the streets that she wandered through cheerfully as a child became battlefields scattered with bodies and debris. She dodged flashes of light and sent them out herself.

She supposed the light might have been the same, the terrifyingly bright flashes that lit up the night, but what was on the end of them was entirely different. No flying, piercing metal; no hope of surviving if the shooter wanted you dead and you couldn't get out of the way fast enough. Instant death awaited, quick and painless, unless you were facing someone particularly cruel. There was less pain in the deaths of her war, but she thought (though she could never be sure), there was more fear.

The sounds that surrounded her were minimal. Her battles lacked the explosions, the bangs, the screeching that haunted her father. The silence haunted her. Eerie silence, scattered with shouts of nonsense words, the occasional sound of something collapsing as a shot missed, screams of pain or terror, pops as people came or went. Her grandfather was right; the sound was something you never forgot.

Her grandfather's war and her father's war were fought with metal and manpower. Hers was done with magic.

Her grandfather marched through the muddy expanse of no man's land in the dead of the night to lay the wire or cut the enemy's. Too often, the bodies of his comrades fell around him as they approached. He spent too many nights lying on his belly, and praying to any God he knew that he might survive.

Her father fought in the infantry. He blindly followed thousands of other men as they marched toward Germany. They fired when they were told, not so much at a target as in a general direction, hoping that they hit the right people. Bullets flew at them, and he prayed and hoped beyond belief that they would fly past him. He was always full of regret when a friend fell next to him.

She appeared from thin air when she was summoned. She was always armed; rarely did her weapon leave her person. The battles she fought were almost never planned. At least, not on her front: they were continually on the defensive. At the drop of a dime, anywhere and anytime, she would be required to appear and fight. As a result, she lived in a constant state of fear; always ready to fight for her life should the need arise.

Her grandfather went to war to do his duty. His country called on him, and so he went. Her father was far more enthusiastic; he went as soon as he could, fighting for his honor and the King's. She fought because she had to, because she couldn't sit by and do nothing while those around her died. She fought because this was a war entirely to do with her: her rights, her status, her entire life. Doing nothing had never been an option; her integrity would not allow it. It was always her war to win.

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**AN: So there's the start! Obviously it's going to be a pretty different kind of story, and I am SO FREAKING EXCITED. I hope you are too. I hope you enjoyed the beginnings, and hopefully I'll have the next chapter up sometime next month! I would really appreciate feedback, so please leave me reviews and tell me what you think!**

**Love and cookies,**

**Katie**


	2. War Stories

The Evans family was full of soldiers.

Lily and Petunia grew up listening to their dad's stories. They were innocent enough at first: he and his mates and the antics they got up to. They became familiar to the girls as their father repeated the same handful of stories over and over. The safe stories, the girls would come to know. The ones their father could tell them knowing those memories would not push him over the edge. Eventually, Petunia stopped listening. Lily started to wonder about the stories they didn't hear.

Their granddad had stories too. When he was around their father, it turned into a competition; who had it harder? Lily's father always spoke first. Courtesy, Lily thought. It wasn't until she was older that she realized Granddad was choosing his stories based on his son's. When she was alone with her granddad she prodded the real stories out of him. He told her the stories of his battles, so different from those of his son. Like her father's, they started funny at first, and as she aged, and he aged, they got darker and darker.

"It started," her grandfather would begin, "when some bloody fools shot the Archduke of someplace-or-another…"

_ 1916 _

Phillip Evans was called to serve in the middle of the First World War, as soon as they started conscription. He went through basic training, where they taught him to follow orders and shoot a gun. It didn't take long. In a few short weeks he was assigned to a troop. They lined them up and everyone received a gun.

Soon he was sent to the trenches, somewhere in the middle of France. He was told where he would be sleeping (in a glorified hole with at least six other men), briefed on what went on, and told that he should try to get some shut-eye because that night he'd be out in no man's land, laying the wire.

"I don't think I can," Phil said. "It's the middle of the day."

"You'll get used to it," his commander responded.

Phil wasn't so sure.

He lay where he had been told and shut his eyes, but he did not sleep. He listened to the conversations flowing in around him, and the sound of life in the trenches. Shouts of orders, raucous laughing, boxes moving, nails being pounded in, the distant explosion of shells and the pounding of gunfire: the music of war. Eventually the cacophony brought him to a short and restless slumber.

_1940_

Jack Evans slept soundly as the sounds of military life drifted around him. He never had trouble with it; while the men around him tossed and turned well into the night, he fell asleep with ease. He woke early too; the sunlight had never let him sleep for long. During training, his commanders had praised it… to the extent they praised anything, anyway.

He had enlisted early, as soon as he could convincingly tell them he was old enough. The fear in his bright green eyes as he had lied might have given him away. He didn't think the recruiters cared. He boarded the bus to basic without telling his parents. Instead, he left a note with an address and a promise to write.

Basic went by quickly. They took only enough time to kill the boys and breed the soldiers. Before too long they were shipped off to France with the guns from his father's war and hardly any ammunition for them.

"How are we supposed to kill the Krauts without any bullets?" Jack asked some of the men in his platoon as soon as he had discovered that the base didn't have much either. It hadn't taken long; he'd been on supply duty for the entire four hours he'd been at the base.

"You've got a bayonet, haven't you?" Oliver Miller said. The group responded with raucous laughter over their drinks.

A man called Keeley raised his glass toward Jack. "Fancy one?"

"Nah," he said. "I think I'm gonna hit the hay."

Every face in the group looked at him incredulously. "The noise don't bother you?" Paddy Rivers asked.

Jack shook his head.

"Suit yourself then."

Jack went to his cot, and drifted easily away.

_1971_

The first morning Lily Evans awoke at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was a misty, grey Tuesday. She woke with a start, as if from an exciting dream- only, it wasn't. The deep red curtains surrounding her as she lay in a four-poster bed told her that immediately. She fell back onto her bed and flailed about for a few moments, basking in the excitement of her situation. Soon her mind turned to her best friend and her unwavering desire to share her excitement with him. And then she remembered: they had been placed in separate Houses. She wasn't exactly sure what all that entailed, but he had seemed disappointed.

She threw the covers off her legs and slid out of bed as quickly as she could. Her dormmates were only just waking as she dug through her trunk for her uniform. Lily had already dressed and readied her bag for the day before she realized that she actually had no idea where to find Severus, and no way to communicate with him at all. She sat softly on her bed, wondering what she could do. There weren't many options, so she took the only one she could think of and headed to breakfast to wait for him there.

It took her a bit longer than she anticipated to find the Great Hall again; she thought the staircases might have changed since last night. Eventually, though, she made it. The four long tables from the night before were once again covered with food- of the breakfast variety this time- and the clouds had shifted slightly so that several rays of sunlight entered the room. She looked over at the table Severus had gone to last night and scanned over it carefully, but he was not to be found. Sighing, she walked across the Hall to the Gryffindor table, and took a seat by herself a little ways down from some rather rowdy boys. She helped herself to a piece of toast and a bit of bacon, her eyes focused intently upon the doors and the table across the Hall.

After what felt like _hours _she saw him enter, surrounded by a group of boys. They were talking animatedly, laughing and pointing at different people they saw. He sat facing her, made eye contact with her and smiled. She decided she would meet him when he was finished.

The girls from her dorm came and sat with her soon after. "You left early this morning, Lily," one of them commented.

"Yeah," Lily replied, "Sorry I didn't wait for you. I couldn't wait to eat!"

They giggled, and continued to chat. Lily chimed in occasionally, but her eyes never strayed too far from Slytherin table. When Professor McGonagall came around to pass out their timetables she guessed animatedly at what each class might contain. A few of the girls came from magical families and happily explained what the difference between Charms and Transfiguration was, and why they had class at midnight on Wednesdays. Out of the corner of her eye she noticed the group of Slytherin boys Severus was with rise from the table. "Excuse me," she told her roommates, getting up from the table herself, "I've got to go meet a friend of mine."

She didn't wait to hear a response and very nearly ran out of the Hall after him. "Severus!" she called as soon as she had made it into the corridor. He kept walking with the group he had gone to breakfast with, as if he had not heard her. "Severus!" she called again, a bit louder. She was jogging at this point, catching up to them rapidly. "Sev!" Finally, he turned to face her.

"Lily," he responded.

"I was looking for you!" she said. "Sev, can you-" She stopped herself as she realized they were still surrounded by his friends. "Um, can we talk later?"

"You can talk now," one of the boys said. "We don't mind, do we?" The others glanced at each other out of the corner of their eyes, unsure of how they should react. Another boy shook his head and the rest followed suit.

"Well _I _mind," Lilysaid.

"Oh," the boy sounded rather impressed. "Aren't you lively? I'm Thaddeus Avery." He extended his hand.

She did not accept it. "Lily Evans," she replied.

"Evans," Avery mulled it over in his mouth. "That doesn't sound familiar…"

"Funny, it's very common." Lily crossed her arms over her chest.

"That's a Muggle name, then?" It was only partly a question.

Lily furrowed her brow in confusion, "What of it?"

"You're a Muggle then?" Avery laughed. The boys surrounding him joined in with soft chuckles.

"I'm not!" she said. "I'm a witch. That's why I'm here, same as you."

"Not really, though," another boy said. "Everyone knows Mudbloods aren't as magical as purebloods."

"What does that even mean?" she said.

"Lily," Severus warned, under his breath.

"You don't know?" the new boy asked. "Then I'll explain. A 'Mudblood,' is someone like you: someone with filthy Muggle blood in them. That's why we call them Mudbloods, their blood is dirty."

"That is absolutely disgusting," she said, "and completely untrue. It doesn't make any difference." She turned to look at Severus. "Does it?"

_1940_

"It does if you don't want the Krauts to blow your fucking brains out." Paddy Rivers's voice was stern. He tightened the strap on Jack's helmet and patted him affectionately on the head.

Jack dodged Paddy's hand and shot an angry look his way. "I can do it myself," he spat.

"Alright then," Paddy responded, unaffected. "Do it yourself next time then." He turned from the young boy and began walking out of the tent in which they slept. "We're lining up in ten minutes. You best finish getting ready," he told him.

"I_ know,"_ Jack said forcefully. "I can take care of myself."

"Funny," Paddy replied as he walked out the door. "It sure don't seem like it."

"Bloody old codger," Jack muttered. He grabbed his gun and followed Rivers outside.

He meandered through the crowded make-shift base, avoiding people as they carried supplies to where they were needed, or walked to and from their barracks. When he approached the designated meeting area, a group of men stood huddled in groups and talking. He did not approach any of them; instead he stood alone and waited for the lines to form around him. A few minutes later the commanders approached and the huddles fell apart.

When the lines had set, the general and his men moved to the front. He stood with his legs spread and his arms behind his back. His men stood in the same position on either side and slightly behind.

"Today!" he began. "We march! We're headed north, and we're going to stop the German progress into France! There's a town a few kilometers north where we think the Germans are headed next- we'll head there and take it before they can!" He paused, perhaps expecting uproar of some sort, but none came. "We leave in an hour."

He turned and walked away. When he had left, his men gave the orders to fall out. They were to collect their belongings, anything they had brought with them, as they would not be returning.

Jack immediately made his way back to his barracks. He avoided the same people through the same streets as before, walking as quickly as he could. He deftly dodged several men carrying supplies, and very nearly avoided a collision with a group of soldiers as he rounded a corner. After a few moments, he arrived back at his barracks and was pleased to find that- just as he had planned- he was the first one back.

He set about packing his things immediately, hoping that maybe if he moved quickly enough, he could avoid all contact with Paddy Rivers. There were fifty other men in his platoon, but Rivers only made it a point to bother Jack. There were other boys, not quite as young as he, but close enough, yet no one treated _them_ like babies. The men found it entertaining, funny; Jack didn't.

He threw his belongings into his pack rather carelessly. He didn't have much: the standard supplies, a bit of food, his cigarettes and lighter, a few letters from his mother. A quick glance at his watch told him that he was way ahead of schedule, and soon enough, everyone else would be back. Hoping to avoid Rivers for a bit longer, he pulled out his fags and lighter, walked outside, turned in the opposite direction, then around a corner into a little alley. He leaned against a wall and pulled one out, putting it between his lips to light it.

He took a deep breath, sucking in a mouth full of smoke. The hot sting that burned his throat took him by surprise, and he choked it out. He very nearly lost the cigarette from his mouth as he coughed and sputtered. When he had regained himself, he looked around casually, hoping that no one had been around to see him. Confident he had not been spotted, he brought the burning stick to his lips once again. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply.

_1916_

Phil opened his eyes as he exhaled softly. Silently, he braced himself for what was about to come.

"'Course it matters!" Officer Glover shouted. "Do you want the Fritz to walk right through? Of course it fucking matters how you wrap the goddamn wire."

The crowd around him looked down quietly. None of them spoke.

"Well?" he shouted again. "Do you?" He took a step forward and stared directly into the face of Phil Evans. "Do you want the fucking Fritz to walk right into our trenches?" It did not matter that Phil had not had asked the question. "Do you?"

"No sir," Phil replied. His bright green eyes met the cold brown ones of his commander.

"So what are you fucking gonna do?"

"Wrap the wire like you told us to, sir."

"Damn right you will!" He turned around, as if to walk away, then changed his mind and turned back toward Phil. "Now get your fucking ginger head out of my sight."

Phil rose immediately, saluted Glover and left the trench immediately. He had hardly turned the corner when he heard Glover shout again, "And all the rest of you too!" There was a scuffling of chairs and the soft thump of feet upon dirt. He continued navigating through the narrow trench; as usual, it was crowded with people carrying supplies or headed to meetings. He hoped to make it back to his barracks before the men caught up to him or he was commandeered by another officer for some menial job.

Somehow, he managed to avoid any more work; however he was not quite as quick as he had hoped. He entered the dingy almost-room, and had barely taken a seat before the other men in his company entered.

"Rough break there, Evans." Charlie Hooper nodded to him.

"Yeah," Phil responded. "It was." He wondered for a moment if Hooper might apologize, as he'd actually been the one to ask the dreaded question. It seemed unlikely that he would, and in any case, it was not necessarily Hooper's fault. Glover had misheard and pounced on Phil instead of Charlie. Phil supposed it didn't matter; the deed was done after all.

"Poker?" Hooper asked.

"Alright," Phil replied.

They pulled their dinky chairs around the table and Hooper got out his deck. Several other men joined them- Finch, Pitchford, and Payne, the usuals. Hooper dealt, and they played several rounds. Finch lost, Payne lost, Pitchford and Hooper both won, Phil just about broke even. No one was particularly excited or concerned; they supposed it would even out the next time. It usually did.

They stopped as it got boring, just about the time they were meant to ready themselves for the night ahead. This was done almost entirely in silence. Noises were made from the movement of their equipment, but not one of them spoke unless it was necessary. It was almost a defense mechanism; detach yourself as soon as you could, and maybe it wouldn't be so dreadfully terrifying. Maybe it wouldn't be so awful if someone didn't come back. Maybe it would make it bearable if _you_ didn't make it back, or worse, if the bullet didn't take you right away.

(They thought it might be helpful. It never was.)

They crept through the trenches, following each other single file. For now they could stand straight up. Phil and his back were glad for it. He was never sure exactly how long it took to get from their dugout to the front. The journey seemed never ending, yet they always arrived far too soon.

They halted. One by one, each man climbed over the barrier into no-man's-land. They crouched low, pulling themselves under the wire they'd already laid. Phil pulled himself by his elbows, but in a momentary lapse raised his shoulder too high and a barb dug into his skin. He responded thoughtlessly with a sharp intake of breath. He desperately hoped it had not actually been as loud as he had heard. The continued motion beside him told him he was most likely safe. He dislodged himself and continued moving.

When they had all arrived in their assigned location, they pulled themselves into crouching positions and pulled out the rolls of wire and the pairs of cutters they had been supplied. They worked in complete silence, wrapping and cutting the wire exactly as they had been instructed. It went well for a few moments, and then out of the corner of his eye, Phil noticed a flicker of light coming from the German front. It continued into the sky until it burst forth in a bright white light.

Phil's face grazed painfully against the barbed wire as he flattened himself against the ground.

_1973_

Lily pushed herself off the ground and rolled into a sitting position, pulling her wand out as quickly as she could on the way. She aimed at the boy laughing behind her; thankfully there was only one.

"What's the matter, Evans?" Avery taunted. "Can't you Mudbloods even walk?"

"Is that the best you've got, Avery?" She had to look up at him to meet his eyes. "Attacking me while my back is turned? What's the matter; scared you'll lose if I can fight back?"

He let out a deep, loud laugh. "You think you could lay a wand on me?"

"With my hands tied behind my back," she spat.

"Big words for such a very little girl," he taunted.

"I've even bigger ones to back them up, would you like to hear them?"

"I-"

"_Expelliarmus!" _she shouted, and Avery's wand went flying through the air. She picked herself up from the ground and sneered at him, "You should really stop talking so much" Her voice was dripping with sarcasm. "_Petrificus totalus." _

Avery fell to the ground with a terrible thump. Lily looked down at him and whispered, "I hope that hurt," before walking away. She had made it only a few paces when she heard footsteps approaching the scene she had left behind. She began walking more quickly, it would not bode well for her to be caught dueling in the corridors _again_. There was a turn coming up soon, if she could just move a little faster…

"Lily?" She heard a voice call from down the area. Damn.

She paused for a moment, hoping to identify the voice before the owner could determine it was actually her.

"Lily?" the voice called again.

She couldn't place it exactly; the voice was still too far away, but it had to be friendly. Any of Avery's friends would have shouted her surname and sprinted after her. A professor would have a similar reaction, only with 'Miss' attached. Unless it was… could it be Sev? Lily turned around.

A small mousy girl ran toward her. Brown hair flew into her face and her grey skirt bounced around her knees. "Lily!" she gasped.

Lily waved in greeting to her friend. "Mary!" she said cheerfully as her friend approached.

Mary ignored her. "Lily." She took a deep breath. "What is going on?" She breathed heavily as she attempted to catch her breath.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Lily replied, as innocently as she could muster.

"Lily." Mary's voice was stern. "Thaddeus Avery is lying completely bound in the corridor, and you're walking away, and you really had nothing to do with that?"

"Is he?" Lily asked. "I hadn't noticed."

"Oh you just walked by him then, did you?"

"I was a bit preoccupied."

"Lily!" Mary's face was severe "You can't just curse people in the middle of the corridors!"

Lily yanked Mary's arm and began pulling her along as they approached the corner. "And you can't just shout that about! Do you want me to get in trouble?"

"You don't think you will be when he tells a professor?"

"Of course not." Lily scrunched her face in confusion. "He's not going to tell anyone it was me."

"What makes you so sure of that?"

"He's not going to admit that a pathetic Mudblood _girl _bested him. He'd never live it down."

"What's he going to say when someone finds him?"

"That's on him." Lily shrugged.

Mary gave her another stern look, but she couldn't hold it too long and cracked a smile at Lily's innocent expression. "Come on then," Mary conceded. "I think there's going to be treacle tart at dinner." Lily giggled and followed her friend to the Great Hall.

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AN: I'm pretty sure that I thought I had something to tell you. I don't remember what it was. Must not have been that important! :)

Big thanks to everyone who has helped with this story so far! :)

pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease review and tell me what you think of this! It is actually my baby and I want it to be the best that it can possibly be and pretty much all feed back is helpful!

AN Part Two: Accidentally upoaded the wrong version of the chapter? BECAUSE I'M AN IDIOT APPARENTLY. Not super major changes, just the first section there. :)


	3. Bite the Bullet

**AN: So many thanks to Stefanie, Kim, Todd, Ayesha, Beth and Kristina for looking this over for me. And eternal thanks to Ashley for being wonderful and listening to me rant about this when it was just a baby. **

**Big scary authors note at the bottom idk what happened i'm so sorry**

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_1940_

Left. Right. Left. Right. The sound of many feet hitting the ground simultaneously was relaxing; it let Jack focus on the tasks at hand: walking, scanning for enemies, getting to the next village quickly. They were moving at a steady pace, not so quickly as to exhaust them, but fast enough to make it within the day. Even so, it was not fast enough for Jack. Left. Right. Left. Right. He had his gun poised in his arms. It was loaded, but he didn't have any extra ammunition. Not that it mattered. He hadn't even gotten a chance to fire it yet.

He wondered how far they'd walked by now. He wondered how long they'd been walking. The sun beat on his brow and his mouth was dry and scratchy. He wanted to check his watch or take a swig of water. Not a whole lot, just enough to wet his whistle. Any more would be wasteful. He'd like to stop and sit, just for a minute. Just long enough so that he could be sure his legs could stop. That they weren't permanently walking. (He thought they might be. Maybe he couldn't stop at all anymore). Alas, he could not. He could not stop walking. He could not take a drink from his canteen. He could not even check his watch to see how long they had been walking. Instead, he held onto his rifle, and kept marching.

"Thirty-two fucking kilometers," Jeremiah Johns whispered. "Just a fucking few." The men around him chuckled. It hadn't seemed terribly long the way they had said it, but it had certainly turned out to be.

"How long have we been walking for?" Stan MacGregor asked.

"For-fucking-ever," Johns replied.

"At least we're doing something," Jack responded. "It's about bloody time we moved on, there was nothing to be done at the last place."

"Nothing to be done there, either," Rivers said. "If we're lucky, that is."

"I think I'll count my luck differently," Jack said.

"Then you'll count your luck stupidly."

"God forbid I want to actually do something to help my country," Jack snapped.

"Can't do much for it if you're dead."

"Good thing I don't plan on dyin' then."

"No one ever plans on dyin'."

"Ah, leave the lad alone, Rivers,"

"He don't even shave yet, of course he wants a bit of excitement."

Johns moved to pat him on the back, "Maybe if you're _really_ lucky, we can find a friendly French girl for ya."

"And I'm sure they've got wine," MacGregor added.

"What makes you so sure?"

"It's France! Everyone has wine!"

The men laughed loudly and carried on marching.

The sun was still beating violently against his face; every so often a drop of sweat would tickle him as it ran down his neck. His mouth was still parched and he still could not spare a drink of water. The march was still Hellish, and he still had no idea how long they had been at it or how far they had to go, but he walked with renewed energy. The thought of the next village carried him for a while, the thought of wine and women, the possibility of danger. Suddenly the walk was not so monotonous.

Jack continued walking with pep in his step. Almost skipping, really. He had thought they were moving too slowly before, but now- now everyone else was positively sluggish. He walked naturally, and somehow he ended up several yards ahead. To keep pace, it was as if he had to drag his feet. He willed them all to move faster. The faster they got there, the faster they could all drink all the wine they wanted and eat as much as they could hold. He'd find a woman, maybe, with dark hair and bright eyes and a tight little arse he could-

The commander leading them turned and stopped. There was a shuffle as men collected themselves. As it turned out, Jack _could_ stop walking, though his legs still felt as if they were moving.

"We're five kilometers out," the commander shouted. "We'll be there within the hour! Have your guns at the ready, our scouts haven't found any Germans, but that doesn't mean they're not there."

They began walking again, and soon the village came into view. Jack stopped for as long as he could manage to behold the site where adventure would finally come to him.

_1975_

Lily looked out the side of the carriage as the image of Hogwarts castle grew up in the distance. It was still as breathtaking as the first moment she had laid eyes on it, though she now experienced this sight every few months. She let out a dreamy sigh and turned back to her companion.

"Did you have fun today, Sev?" she asked.

He looked up from his book. "Huh?"

"Did you have fun?" she repeated.

He took a deep breath. "Yes," he said, "though I suppose it might have gone better."

"Yes," Lily said. "Yes, it might have."

"But it was fun-"

"Before your friends attacked us?" she finished for him.

"We were disrupted," he corrected. "They didn't _attack_ us."

"What did they do then?" she asked pointedly.

"Th-they, they- well they were no worse than Potter and his friends!"

"Potter wouldn't have gotten involved if your friends hadn't started it."

"You can't be defending them," he pleaded. "They're horrible!"

"They're no worse than your friends," she snapped. "And I'm not defending them. I know they're horrible, you don't have to constantly remind me, but I don't think they're as bad as you think they are."

"But they-"

"_They_'ve never called me-"

"That's not fair."

"That's perfectly fair."

"You know they don't think that about you. I don't think that about you."

"They don't think that about me?" She folded her arms over her chest. "Funny, they sure acted like it."

"Well, they're not used to the idea…"

"Of a Mudblood being decent?"

"Don't."

Lily inhaled deeply. "Fine."

They sat in a hostile sort of silence until Lily spoke again. "At least _they're_ funny," she spat. "Your friends are just cruel."

"You think they're _funny?_" His voice rose. "Have you seen what they do to me?"

"Indeed I have," she said. "And I've seen what you do to them as well."

"You can't possibly think that's worse," he said.

"They don't use Dark Magic!" she cried. "That's more than I can say for you and your friends."

"What does it matter?" he said sharply.

"What does it-" She stopped herself. "No, I guess you're right." Her voice was flat. "Just like always," she muttered. She did not speak for the rest of the journey.

Several minutes later, when the carriage began to slow Severus looked at her. "I did have fun today," he said quietly. "I- did you?"

She smiled, "Yeah, I did. It's nice spending time with you; we hardly see each other anymore. I miss you."

"I miss you too," he said, "but you know how it goes."

"Right," she said. "Other friends get in the way. I know."

"And if today proved anything-"

"Maybe we should keep it out of public?" she finished for him.

"At school at least," he said.

"Right," she said, "I think that's a good idea."

The carriage pulled to a halt, and they both shook with the jolt. Lily moved immediately, rising from her seat and exiting the carriage.

"I- this doesn't mean we can't see each other," Severus called to her. Lily turned around to listen. "I mean, I just don't think we should flaunt it. I-I just"-his voice broke to a whisper-"I don't know what'd I'd do without you."

Lily smiled. "Alright," she said softly.

"Do you want to go the kitchens?" he asked. "We didn't really get a chance to eat."

"No." Lily shook her head. "Thank you, but I think I'm going to have a lie down."

She turned from him and walked quickly inside. In the Entrance Hall, she took the stairs two at a time, knowing that it was very likely Sev would follow her and ask again until she said yes. On the fourth floor, she decided that she did not, in fact, want to go back to her dorm, and instead veered off to the other direction.

She continued to walk quickly, though there was no reason for it. Maybe if she walked quickly enough, she could run away from this entire thing, and she and Sev could just be friends and she'd never have to worry about it again. Maybe.

Her walk had slowed significantly. She approached a window, and stopped to lean against the ledge. Slowly, she shook her head. Or maybe he wouldn't even notice.

"Alright, Evans?" Lily didn't need to turn to know who it was. His voice was tinged with annoyance, and just a hint of anger, but it was familiar nonetheless.

"Perfectly well, Potter." She turned around as she spoke.

"Good to hear," he spat. His face was bruised in several places, and his nose was broken.

"You're not angry with _me_ for this, surely?" She was incredulous. "It's not like I _asked_ you to get involved!"

"I don't need to be asked to do the right thing," he snapped.

"Then maybe you shouldn't complain about the consequences." She turned on her heel and began to walk away from him.

"Maybe you should reconsider who you spend time with!" he hollered after her.

"Maybe I should!" she called back to him.

_1916_

"I think you deserve it," Hooper said.

"I'm not sure Glover would agree," Phil responded. "I've hardly been here long enough."

"Nonsense! You've been here plenty long. They'll want you to get away before your feet start to rot like the rest of ours."

"So I can come back and have them rot later, with no leave left?"

"No, so you can have them rot later, and then take medical leave for them."

Phil grinned, and the two men got halfway through a laugh before a far off explosion interrupted them. The room around them shook, trinkets fell from the shelves and all the furniture rattled like toys.

It was quiet long enough for Hooper to yell "Christ!" before another explosion, closer this time, began rattling everything again.

Phil winced and gripped the table in front of him tightly. "Don't they ever take a fucking break?"

"Not used to it yet?" Hooper had to shout, as another shell had just gone off, closer still. "Maybe you're not ready for leave yet."

Phil opened his mouth to respond when Officer Glover appeared at the door. "Get moving!" he shouted. He did not linger to explain. Phil stared at the door in disbelief, so struck with horror that he did not even flinch when another shell went off and knocked several of the shelves clean.

Hooper, on the other hand, had sprung immediately into motion. His helmet appeared on his head so quickly it seemed like magic. He grabbed Phil's as well, and set it on top of his red hair. "Get it together, Evans!" Hooper shouted. "We've got to go!"

Phil seemed to wake from his trance as the words left his mouth. He nodded and followed Hooper out of the dugout. Men ran through the trench, dirt fell down upon them as they raced in every direction. The ground shook beneath them as another shell landed off somewhere. The air was deafening, he could not tell where any of the sounds were coming from, and had no time to even think about it. Another bang as a shell exploded, the earth rumbled, dirt spilled on helmets, faces, bodies, equipment, the massive crash as a trench caved in.

He continued to follow Hooper, though Phil had no idea where they were going, nor any idea how Hooper might have known. They ran through the trembling earth, feet pounding on the shaking floor of the trench, hoping they would not fall.

Hooper stopped as they approached a dugout that had completely caved in. Glover was there, shouting orders. Or, he was shouting something, well maybe he was shouting. Phil could not tell. Glover's face was contorted in a fashion that Phil had never seen before, strained and scared, and he was pointing. Phil could not hear anything he was saying over the bangs and scrapes and the pounding that had inhabited his ears. As Glover knelt down, Phil's eyes followed, and fell upon a man. The remains of a man, he realized. A leg was missing, and Phil could see the man's ribs, all of his innards spilling around the ground around him. He was moving. Phil's eyes continued up the broken man, toward his face, where Glover knelt, holding a limp hand and whispering. The man's mouth was moving. Phil froze, staring at the scene in front of him. Glover looked up, right at him, and shouted something he could not hear. Phil stayed still. Glover shouted again. The pounding in Phil's ears had only grown louder, and he could no longer even hear the shells falling around him. Glover shouted again, and his voice began to come into focus. Phil blinked once, and everything came crashing into horrific clarity. "MORPHINE, GODDAMMIT."

Phil turned and ran, back through the trembling earth and against the stream of men that had come to repair the dugout. He dodged them as they traveled through the narrow walkways and followed the path, searching each man's face until he found a medic. He grasped the man's arm. "Morphine," he huffed. "Glo-" He took a deep breath. "Glover needs Morphine."

The medic followed without a word.

Phil led him again through the trenches, fast as their feet would carry them. They arrived to find Glover still kneeling near the man, and the medic approached him.

Phil looked on for a moment longer, then turned on his toe, leaned over and expelled the contents of his stomach.

_1940_

Jack took a deep breath and braced himself for another heave. He bent over, and placed his hands on his knees, stretching his neck slightly to avoid his boots. The bile rose into his mouth and landed in a puddle at his feet. Before he could prepare for another, the hot acid came up again, burning and suffocating, and he was left coughing. He felt hot tears falling from his eyes as he coughed. Another contraction in of his stomach and he heaved, once, twice, three times, with no results. With his hands still on his knees, he spit several times to clean the remnants out of his mouth, then wiped his lips with his hands.

"Have a little too much last night, did ya?" Rivers approached him from behind.

Without turning around, Jack responded, "Piss off. It's none of your damn business how much fun I had last night."

"Find a girl to fuck then?"

"Piss. Off."

"Don't be so quick to get rid of me, I came to help."

"I don't need it."

Rivers laughed. "Whatever you say, mate."

Jack turned to look at him, "What've you got then?"

"Hair of the dog." He set down a glass half full of amber liquid on a barrel in the alley where they stood. "But just one, and no more. Then eat this"-he set down a large piece of bread-"and drink water. As much water as you possibly can."

Jack looked at him but did not say a word.

"And next time, drink some water before you go to bed, aye?"

"Yeah," Jack mumbled.

"I'll leave ya to it, then."

As soon as Rivers had turned to leave, Jack dove toward the contents on the barrel. He picked up the tumbler and brought it to his lips. Even the smell of the rum made Jack feel nauseous again, and the first sip made him gag. After the first sip, he downed it as quickly as he could. It irritated his raw throat, and very nearly made him vomit once again. He gasped after he had swallowed, allowing the air to cool his burning mouth. He took a sip of the water-he had gulped some down earlier, and now it was in a puddle on the ground. He hoped that smaller drinks would be a bit easier on his stomach. The bread was a bit stale, but it didn't taste strongly enough of anything to be much of a bother. He took another bite as he began to walk back to the barracks.

Jeremiah Johns grinned at him as he entered. "The sign of a night well spent!" He clapped Jack on the shoulder.

"Yeah, yeah," Jack responded.

"Didn't enjoy it then?" Johns asked. He turned before Jack could respond, and made his way to the stand where they kept a small basin and a polished piece of steel.

"I did." Jack paused as he watched Johns slather shaving cream onto his face. "Well, I enjoyed most of it."

"And the rest?" Johns grinned wickedly at him, the shaving cream adding to his look of amusement.

"Dunno." Jack shrugged.

Johns chuckled. "That's an even better night!" he said, before dragging a razor down the side of his cheek.

Jack managed to smile back at him, and Johns caught his eye through the reflection in the makeshift mirror. "Didn't do anything too daft, did I?"

Johns chuckled again. "Can't say you did, not that I noticed anyway."

Jack smiled truthfully now. "Good to hear."

"You can always tell. You didn't piss yourself or get sick on yourself, and that's all you need to know."

"A sound piece of advice."

Johns had finished shaving and gestured for Jack to take a turn. He got up to take Johns's place at the mirror. He splashed some water on himself before taking a look at his reflection. His brown hair was a mess atop his head, there were bags underneath his bright green eyes and his skin looked a bit ashen. But there was no stubble to be found. He hoped that the flush he felt creeping into his cheeks wasn't noticeable. Jack never shaved, he didn't need it. Perhaps he'd start tomorrow. But it'd be an awful waste…

"Alright then," Johns said as he finished wiping his face. "Smoke?"

Jack agreed readily and the pair made their way out of the barracks. He steered them away from the alley where he had stood earlier, and they leaned against the building. Each pulled out a short brown stick, Jack's was rolled meticulously. Johns was a bit faster than he was, or had his matches stored in with his fags, Jack couldn't tell, but before he could pull out his own lighter, Johns had a match held in front of Jack's face, burning the cigarette beneath his nose. He inhaled, hoping that it would light the first time, and he would not need to face the embarrassment of asking for another match.

As luck would have it, the end glowed orange, and he inhaled the smoke as a sigh of relief. He was careful not to breathe in too deeply; he was still practicing and couldn't quite inhale as deeply as the rest of them without coughing. After a moment, he released his breath and allowed the sweet nicotine to work its magic.

_1975_

"Lily!" Severus yelled as he approached her in the park. "Are you _smoking?"_

In response, Lily brought the cigarette to her lips and took a long drag. She released the smoke in his direction as he came up next to her on the swing set.

"That's a nasty habit to take up."

"You know, I hear that a lot, and yet it seems that no one ever listens."

"That doesn't mean you should do it too."

Lily let out a bitter laugh. "Right," she said. "I only wanted to see what all the fuss was about."

"Verdict?"

"Try for yourself." She held it out to him.

He took it without hesitation, and brought it to his lips. He took a drag, and almost immediately began to choke on it.

Lily covered her mouth to hide the giggle that threatened to escape. "Sorry, I should've warned you that would happen."

He handed it back to her. "You can't possibly enjoy that."

"It's surprisingly soothing, once you get past the taste."

"Do you ever get past the smell?"

"_Yes_," she said emphatically.

He raised his nose. "How long have you been trying them?"

"Why does it matter?"

"It doesn't, I suppose. Just, it's different, is all. I wouldn't have expected this of you."

"Yeah, well, things change, Sev." She brought the fag to her lips and took a long drag, holding it for as long as she could before exhaling.

Severus remained silent.

"How are your parents?" she asked, finally.

"Still my parents," he said, "unfortunately."

Lily knew better than to press the subject when he did not expand. "Have you started your summer homework yet?"

"Just a bit, it's hard to get too much work done with Tobias and Eileen fighting all the time, but I'm nearly done with everything Slughorn gave us."

Lily chuckled. "Of course you are."

"What about you?"

"I started looking at it yesterday."

"Impressive."

"We've only been out for two weeks!" she countered.

"That's far more than enough time to start," he scolded.

"For you, perhaps. I've been rather busy. I've only just gotten home."

"I wondered why you hadn't written me to meet up yet," Sev mused, his voice soft.

"I was in London with Mary," she explained. "I'd have told you before we left, but I didn't see you…"

"You could've owled," he muttered.

Lily ignored the comment and continued speaking. "It was amazing there, Sev."

"I've been to London," he reminded her.

"Not Muggle London."

"Why would I want to do that?"

"Because it's amazing," she told him. "There's so many people, and so much to see and so many things to do I don't think you could ever be bored there."

"But there's no magic."

"There _is,_ though. There's magical buildings everywhere, hidden right in plain sight. Muggles walk right past them and never even notice! Mary and I went on a tour of them one day and it was fascinating. But London doesn't even need magic to be interesting because it's just so _alive._"

"Sounds like you had a rousing time."

"I did! But I haven't even gotten to the best part yet."

"Which was?"

"Dorcas Meadowes agreed to meet with me."

"The journalist?"

"No, the acrobat."

"What'd you want to meet her for? She's full of absolute shite."

"She is not!"

"Of course she is! She's always blathering on in the _Prophet_ about the most ridiculous things-"

"Like Muggleborn rights and unfair treatment and the fact that there's a very real war going on that _the Ministry refuses to acknowledge?_"

"You don't believe that, do you?"

She stared at him for a moment, half thinking he would crack a grin and begin laughing at her incredulous expression. When he did not, she looked him straight in the eye and said fiercely, "I'm living it."

Severus looked appalled. "You haven't bought into it that much, have you?"

"You've seen it! You've watched your friends do it. You can't possibly-"

"I've seen no such thing."

"Then you must be blind." Lily reached for the bag that she had laid on the ground near her swing. She dug into it for a bit before her fingers fell onto a small cardboard box and a long bit of wood. She pulled out the box, and one of the cigarettes it held within it. She put the paper stick between her lips and looked around carefully before pulling out her wand, whispering "_Incendio,_" and touching it to the cigarette between her lips.

"You could be expelled for that."

"Worth the risk," she said. "I don't have any matches on me." She waited for him to respond but he remained silent. "Well it's not like they'll know!"

"How do you figure that?"

"We're not close enough to my house, and there's a fully licensed witch just a few blocks away…" she explained.

Again Severus remained silent. Lily took a long drag of her fag and exhaled slowly. Sev caught a whiff of it and began coughing again.

"Must you?"

"Yes," she responded coolly. "You're welcome to leave if you don't like it."

Much to her surprise, he did not rise to leave. Instead they sat silently for far too long, Lily slowly smoking and Severus raising his nose at the smell.

"It smells like my father," he finally spoke.

"Oh."

"It's a filthy Muggle habit," he spat.

"Good thing I'm a Muggle then."

"You're not-"

"I _am!"_

"You're _magic_," he whispered. "You have a wand. You're a witch."

"You just don't get it, do you?" she said quietly. She rose from her swing, grabbed her bag and walked away.

_1916_

Phil weaved through the winding, ruined dugouts. Some repairs had been made since the last shelling, but it wasn't worth repairing it beyond what was absolutely necessary. The walls seemed as though they may collapse at any minute, though having helped build them, Phil was fairly sure they would stay standing.

He turned the corner and continued walking down the trench just a bit longer. When he reached his destination he descended the stairs and knocked quickly on the door.

"Come in!" a voice hollered from inside.

Phil opened the door a crack and slipped through, shutting the door swiftly behind him. He removed his hat and tucked it under his arm. "Good evening, sir," he greeted the man sitting behind the desk.

"Evans," Glover responded.

"You wanted to see me, sir?"

"You put in for leave, is that correct?"

"Yes, sir."

"How long?"

"A week, sir. Enough to visit my mother."

"When?"

"Within the next month, I was hoping."

"Any specific reason?"

"Not really, sir. My mum's all alone without me there, I worry."

"Noble," Glover responded.

"Noble enough for it to be granted, sir?"

Glover chuckled softly. "If only, Evans. I can't send you out yet. Not now."

"Oh," Phil responded. He tried desperately not to let the disappointment shade his face. "Thank you anyway, sir."

"Don't get too down, Evans. You're entitled to two weeks a year and I'll be damned if you don't get all fourteen days. It just might take a while."

Phil raised his head to smile at the man. "Thank you, sir."

He had made it to the door when Glover called to him again, "Evans, since you're stuck here a while longer, do try to strengthen your stomach, eh?" Phil looked down as he felt a deep flush fill his cheeks. "That display was pathetic. And it certainly won't be the last time you see a man's innards spilling out around him. All the better for them if you don't vomit on them while they're dying."

"Will do, sir," Phil responded, before walking through the door again.

He walked back through the trenches, pressing himself against the wall as two men carrying something rather heavy looking came past him. At least he knew when he was in the way, which was, incidentally, always, but it was not often he could actually do anything about it. "Strengthen your stomach," his commanding officer had told him. What he had meant was: "Don't be such a bloody pansy," "Be a better solider," "Shed the last bit of the man you brought with you and give into the killer we're trying to create."

Utter bullshit, in Phil's opinion. He'd never become what they wanted him to, he knew it, and he was sure Glover knew it as well. He'd never be a good soldier, and he'd hold it in high esteem. But if holding down his sick was what was demanded of him, he would comply. Not vomiting was a fairly reasonable request, though he was not sure what would be asked of him next.

He returned to his dugout to find Hooper mending a shirt, clumsily forcing his needle in and out of the fabric. He raised his head as Phil entered the room. "And?" he asked.

Phil shook his head. "Not yet, I'm afraid."

"Did he say how come?"

"The timing wasn't right or something."

"Rough, mate."

Phil shrugged. "He said we got two weeks a year and he'd be damned if we didn't get them."

Hooper laughed. "But on their schedule, eh?"

"I think Glover wants to toughen me up a bit before he lets me leave."

"Aye?"

"Told me to strengthen my stomach."

"Not a bad skill to learn."

"I suppose not," Phil responded. It was not a skill he had ever hopped to need.

Hooper gasped as he pricked his finger with the needle, and dropped the garment into his lap. "Fucking hell!" he yelled.

"Let me," Phil offered, reaching for the pile of material.

Hooper threw it at him as he sucked on his finger.

Phil shuffled through the fabric until he found the area Hooper had been mending. He chuckled softly at the crooked, uneven stitches and began to pull them out.

"Something funny about my sewing, Evans?"

"S'bloody awful, Hooper," Phil replied, grinning.

Hooper chuckled. When the damage Hooper had caused had been removed, Phil began mending it again, deftly moving the thread through the fabric. "How'd you get so bloody good at it?"

"My mum," Phil replied. He had reached the end of the tear, and altered the position of the fabric to reinforce the stitches. "She's a seamstress."

"And your father didn't object to her teaching you?"

"Nah." Phil shrugged. He tied off the thread and tossed the shirt back to Hooper. "He was too often at the factory to notice."

"And he never took you with him?"

Phil looked down. "He might've, but he died before he got the chance."

"Sorry to hear that, mate."

"Don't worry about it," Phil responded.

"Your mum's not pleased about you coming here, then?"

"She's very…" frustrated, angry, scared. "Proud."

He wondered if she would be when he returned home to see her. If she would be proud that her only son could now recollect in perfect detail what a man's organs looked like as they spilled out around him or the exact position of every muscle in his face as his spirit left his body. Would she be impressed that he could see this and hold his stomach? Would she love him more if she knew that he could point a gun at a living man and pull the trigger? He prayed she would never have to find out.

* * *

**AN: Smoking is bad for your health. Also, "hair of the dog" is a TERRIBLE HANG OVER REMEDY NEVER DO THAT EVER. Don't drink until you're of age. (I believe Jack is of age, btw, given the time frame.). Please excuse any similarities you might see from Birdsong. Phil's sections are heavily influenced by it (it's super hard for an American to like, actually research how life was for British soldiers during wwi and wwii. I'm also lazy. So I use the research people have already done. I mean, it is fanfiction.) You should check out Birdsong, btw. Great novel and a beautiful miniseries (WITH EDDIE REDMAYNE THE LOVE OF MY LIFE). **

**As people who have reviewed/follow me on tumblr may know, I'm currently working on this for Camp Nano. Hopefully that means I'll have the whole thing (or at least a good chunk, because lol the whole thing idek what that means), done by the end of July! Don't get too excited, though. The stuff I currently have written is in need of some hardcore editing, so it might take a little while. I'm hoping for once a month updates, which I know sounds ridiculous, but if you can possibly imagine the scope of writing this novel, you'll understand that I need the time. Also I make no promises for months in which I have finals. College is rough. **

**Okay so now that we're getting into it, let me know wha****t ****you think, yeah? If you have any questions about historical things etc. you can ask them in reviews or at my tumblr and I'm more than happy to answer them :) **

**THIS IS THE LONGEST AN EVER I'M SO SORRY PLEASE REVIEW I NEED ATTENTION**

**love katie :)**

**(remember the good old days when i signed off as sunny and then i joined tumblr and all thoughts of anonymity went out the window lol I'M RAMBLING I'M SORRY)**


	4. Nail Your Colours to the Mast

_1976_

Lily wrapped her coat tightly against herself as she stepped out of her family's car and into the icy air. She took a look around for a moment at the familiar surroundings. Light snow covered the trees and houses she saw so often in her childhood, and she smiled as she recalled the many Christamases spent at her grandparents' house. These holidays seemed to happen less and less often since she began attending Hogwarts. The lure of the castle at Christmas had been too much to pass up when she was younger.

This year Nan and Granddad had come for Christmas dinner at Lily's. She was sure that Granddad would have been okay with visiting for his birthday as well, but Lily's mother wouldn't hear of it. "I won't have you trucking all the way out here again for your own birthday," her mother had told her father-in-law over the phone, "We'll come to you."

And there they were, with a car full of groceries and a few small gifts wrapped in colorful paper.

"Lily!" Her father called to her, "Grab the cake, will ya?"

She did as she was told and walked quickly up to the front door, where the rest of her family was patiently awaiting someone to answer the door. Just as she arrived on the stoop, the door opened to reveal her grandfather dressed in his finest clothes and leaning on his cane.

"Happy Birthday, Dad," her father greeted him.

Her grandfather nodded and thanked him, allowing his son to pass through the door. Lily's mother and sister followed, each greeting him in a similar fashion. Finally Lily made it through the door. She smiled widely at her grandfather. "Happy Birthday, Granddad!"

"How lovely to see you, Lily! I thought you might be back at school already."

"Not until next week," she said.

"Wonderful!" He shut the door behind her, and helped her remove her coat.

Her mother and sister had apparently shed theirs much more quickly, and had already made their way into the kitchen. Her father too, had made his way there, carrying in the several bags full of food her mother would need to prepare dinner. Lily followed their lead, and her granddad followed her as well.

"Where's Nan?" Lily asked him as they entered the kitchen.

"Er, she's still getting dressed," he answered.

"Oh," Lily replied.

"She should be down any minute."

"Dad!" Lily heard her father say, and her grandfather focused his attention on him. He dug into a bag on the counter, and pulled out a fifth of whiskey. "Shall we?" he asked his father.

Her grandfather agreed, and the two made their way into the dining room to partake of it.

Lily's mother, meanwhile, had handed Lily a knife and a sack of potatoes. She dutifully made her way to the sink, and lamented the fact that she was not yet able to do magic outside of Hogwarts; peeling potatoes was her least favorite kitchen chore.

"What is going on?" Her grandmother asked as she walked into the kitchen.

"We're making dinner, Nan," Petunia responded.

"Why?"

"For Granddad's birthday," she explained.

"Why are you doing it?" Nan asked.

Lily and Petunia both looked at their mother to provide the answer. "So you don't have to!" she answered cheerfully. "We didn't think it was very fair to impose on you."

"Oh," Nan responded.

Lily continued to peel potatoes. Petunia caught her eye and gave her a look. "Nan," Lily said, "Why don't we go into the sitting room? I have so much to tell you!"

"Oh, okay," her Nan said. "Where do you go to school again?"

Lily went to her grandmother and took her arm gently, to lead her into the sitting room. When they were out of earshot of everyone else, she whispered, "It's called Hogwarts."

"That's a funny name."

"It's a funny school," Lily responded.

"Your school?"

"Yes, Nan."

They entered the sitting room and sat down, Lily's grandmother in the same chair she had sat in forever, facing the window, and Lily next to her.

"You're home from school?" Lily's grandmother asked her.

"Yes, Nan, for Christmas," Lily repeated.

"Where do you go to school?"

"It's called Hogwarts," Lily responded. "It's in Scotland."

"Hogwarts," her grandmother echoed, trying the word in her mouth. "What a strange name."

"That's because it's magic," Lily said.

"Magic?" Her grandmother smiled at her.

Lily nodded, "It's full of witches and wizards and ghosts, and the forest has centaurs and unicorns and the lake is full of mermaids."

"And what do you learn there?"

"All sorts of things. Charms and Potions and Transfiguration, and we even had flying lessons first year."

"Oh, what a lovely story, Lily."

"Thanks, Nan."

She didn't respond, and her attention turned toward the scene outside the window. Lily looked as well; it did have a nice view of their garden.

"Where do you go to scho-" she began coughing, loud terrible hacks. She took a tissue from the side table and coughed into in some more. "Excuse me," she said when the coughs had subsided.

"Do you need a drink?" Lily asked. "I can go get you a glass of water or some coffee."

"That's alright, dear."

The continued talking in such a manner until Lily's mother called from the kitchen to inform them that dinner was ready.

"Who made dinner?"

"I did," Lily's mother responded, "For Phil's birthday."

"Oh, right. It's Phil's birthday?"

"It is."

"Oh, I've forgotten. I haven't even made a cake. He'll be so upset. He loves my cake."

"No you haven't," Lily said. "There's a cake in the kitchen."

"Oh, there is? How splendid."

Lily's mother thanked her with a look, and Lily smiled back at her. Together, they followed Nan into the dining room where she greeted her husband with a kiss and sat in the seat next to him as she had done for as long as Lily could remember.

The table had been set already, the food Lily's mother and sister had prepared sat in the middle of the table, and the fine china was set before each seat. When they were all seated, Granddad bowed his head, waited for everyone else to follow his example, and led them in a prayer.

The table sprang to life almost as soon as Granddad's mouth had finished forming "Amen." The Evans family served themselves to generous helpings of everything, and began to eat almost immediately. Just as they always had.

"Lily love," her granddad said. "How's school?"

"Great!" she replied.

"You're a Prefect this year, is that right?"

"Yes, I am."

"How's that going?"

"Very well," Lily responded. "It's a lot of work, but it's worth it."

"That's good to hear," her granddad responded. He turned to his other granddaughter, "And you, Tuney?"

"It's fine," she said.

"How are your grades?"

"Fine."

"Lily is top of her class," their father added.

"Really now?"

Lily smiled, "Not quite."

"Don't be shy, Lily," her mother encouraged.

"I do very well," Lily clarified. "I mean, I have to, don't I?" The words left her lips before she had thought about them. She hoped that her family did not notice her suddenly tense, and she wracked her brain searching for a proper way to finish the sentence.

"Grades are very important," Nan said.

"You'll need them to find a good job," Granddad added.

"Like there's a need for you to get a job," Lily heard Petunia mutter.

"There _is_ a need for it, _thank you_. And I'll have you know it is especially difficult to find a job when you are _like me_."

"What're you talking about, Lily?" Granddad asked, his brow furrowed.

"As a woman," Petunia answered for her. "But she doesn't need a job, not when she can get married. That's what a meant. That she's sure to find a husband to take care of her. Because she's so pretty. _Freak-_ishly pretty." Petunia stabbed her roast particularly hard.

Lily silently thanked her sister for smoothing it over. "But I _want_ a job. I wouldn't feel comfortable just depending on my _husband_ for support."

"That's very noble of you, Lily," Granddad responded.

Lily blushed, "Well I am a-" she stopped herself, "A very noble person. It's a point of pride."

"As it should be."

"Were you always very noble, Granddad?" she asked, hoping to change the subject.

"I don't think so. I always tried, though."

"I suppose that's noble enough in itself," she pondered the thought for just a moment. "But not even in the war?" she asked. With any luck, her father would join in, and the conversation wouldn't turn back to her for the rest of the evening.

"No, especially not in the war."

"Fighting for what you believe in isn't noble?"

"That's very noble. That's not war."

She furrowed her brow, awaiting an explanation. Granddad had just opened his mouth when Lily's mother interrupted. "Not at the table, please."

"After," he mouthed and winked at Lily.

Half an hour later, the women had helped clear the table, and Lily and Nan had once again been shooed out of the kitchen. This time though, they joined the men in the dining room. Both had pulled out pipes and were beginning to smoke them as they talked.

"Nan," Lily turned to her grandmother. "Do you think Granddad was noble during the war?"

"Well, yes, I think so. He did a lot of brave things…"

_1916_

"Reconnaissance?" Phil asked, trying hard to mask his expression of horror.

"Yes," Glover responded.

Phil's mouth twitched as if opening to make an objection.

"Don't expect special treatment because you're a shit soldier, Evans."

"No, sir. Everyone has to take his turn."

"Try not to get shot while you're out there, yeah? _Dulce et Decorum est_, but we need all the men we can get, even the shit ones."

"Yes, sir," Phil nodded his head.

Glover dismissed him with a wave of his hand. Phil turned and made his way out of the room. _Dulce et Decorum est pro patria mori_. The words rang through his head. He doubted very much it was sweet to die for his country. Right, it may be, but he had yet to see a _sweet_ death. Perhaps the sweetness lay hidden somewhere behind the groans of agony and the dismemberment. He did not particularly care to know. It was much sweeter, he thought, to live for one's country. Somehow, it seemed he was the only one who thought so.

He turned the corner back to his dugout and greeted the men who waited there before heading to his cot. He sat on it forcefully, and for a split second it seemed as if it was going to break. When it did not, he swallowed his stomach back down his throat and laid down across his cot.

"Finally your turn to head across No Man's Land, eh?" Finch asked.

"Yeah," Phil replied.

"About bloody time," Payne added.

"It's not like I've never done it," Phil said. "I'm just fairly apt at avoiding it."

"Fairly," Payne said.

"I'm sure I'd be sent out more often if Glover weren't set on keeping us alive."

"Well that's true," Finch said. "If anyone's going to die out there, it's you, Evans."

"Thanks for that."

"Not his fault you're a clumsy, bloody coward," Payne said.

"Good to know what you really think of me."

"I didn't think it was a secret," Payne explained.

Finch laughed. Phil ignored them.

"Don't go wishing death on him," Pitchford hollered from his cot. "He's a lot better than some."

"Aye, aye," Payne agreed. "And he does fix our shirts."

"Hear that, Evans?" Finch called. "Don't die tonight, we need you to fix our shirts."

"And we don't want a new bloke living with us, neither," Payne added.

"I'll do my best," Phil promised. And with that, he closed his eyes and, pretended at least, to sleep.

_1940_

"Evans!" somebody was shouting. Jack ignored them.

"Evans!" he was closer now. Jack kept his eyes shut tightly. Hadn't he just gone to bed?

"Jack!" the voice was right above him and was now accompanied by a pair of hands shaking him rather violently.

Groggily, Jack cracked opened his eyes. "What?"

"Get the fuck out of bed!" Rivers shouted at him. "We're leaving today."

Jack sat up immediately. His eyes burned as they adjusted to the light of the morning. "What time is it?" There was a dull pounding in his head, and the sudden motion unsettled his stomach.

"Eight," Rivers responded. "We line up in ten."

"Fuck." Jack rose from the bed and scrambled to get ready. The sweet stench of alcohol seeping through his pores filled his nostrils, but there was no time to wash. His clothes and boots were thrown on haphazardly. "Where's Jeremiah?"

"Down there already. He said you'd wake up on time, because you always do."

"Oh."

"Better straighten yourself out," Rivers told him, "Don't let the Officers see you like that."

Jack straightened himself as well as he could before throwing on his helmet and his necessary accessories. "We're not leaving right now are we?"

"No, ten."

Jack relaxed slightly and stopped throwing things into his pack. "Let's go then," he said, before rushing out the door. Rivers tailed behind him until Jack realized he didn't remember where they were meant to meet. Rivers took the lead without being asked and Jack followed him to the lineup.

When they arrived, Jack was confused to find that no one had lined up yet. "I thought we lined up in ten?" he asked

"I lied," Rivers replied.

"You lied?"

"How else was I meant to get you here on time?" Jack's eyes narrowed in annoyance. Rivers shrugged it off. "Didn't see Johns coming to save your sorry arse, did ya?"

Jack turned around and walked away, searching in vain for some actual friends. He found none before it was actually time to line up, and he fell to attention. Once again, the commanding officer shouted at them about where they were going and when and why. Jack didn't care. He hadn't eaten and his stomach was threatening to commit mutiny. Had the sun always been so bright? It certainly hadn't hurt his eyes so badly before. And gods, his helmet must have gotten tighter since yesterday.

When they finally fell out, Jack walked slowly back to the barracks, sipping water out of his canteen. There was food somewhere, but he couldn't be arsed to find it yet.

Luckily, he did not have to look far. There was a chuck of bread waiting on his bed when he arrived. Rivers, probably. The pride in him almost wanted to reject it, but his hangover had other ideas. It was dull and almost tasteless bread, but he could not have asked for anything better on this day. He ate it as quickly as he dared, hoping it would settle his stomach so he wouldn't have to worry about that at least on their trip north. He began packing his things when he finished, quick and sloppy, it was sure to receive a scolding but Jack could not find it within himself to care.

Almost as soon as he finished throwing his bag together, it was time for them to begin the march. Jack cursed himself as they began to walk. The pounding in his head was keeping time with his feet and he could not possibly imagine a worse punishment for his indiscretions. He promised himself he would take greater care in the future.

The sun seemed warmer than the last time they had done this. He began sweating, and as it oozed out of him, he could still smell the sweet stench of alcohol in it. He grunted a bit and carried on.

They didn't make it to the next village by nightfall. They hadn't expected to, he was told. They pitched camp in the middle of the meadow. Scouts and lookouts had been assigned, the scouts had found nothing and the lookouts began keeping watch right away. Jack wanted nothing more than to fall asleep in the grass and not wake up for days. He drew first watch. It was better that way, he told himself. This way, he could sleep uninterrupted through the night as soon as he was done. The problem was that he was not sure he could keep his eyes open through the entirety of the shift.

He stood on his guard, holding his gun as he had been trained and walking when necessary. Walking this way had done a very good job of keeping him awake in the past, today though he was slightly afraid that he would fall asleep on his feet. He'd heard of men doing it already. When walking no longer did the trick, he took to pinching himself to keep his eyes open. At last, the second shift man came to take his place, and Jack moved to his bed and closed his eyes. He fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.

The sunrise woke him the next morning. He was grateful for that, at least. He rose carefully and slowly. His muscles ached with every movement, but he no longer felt as though he would expel his entire stomach at any moment, and his head didn't pound as it had the day before. Aching muscles he could deal with, though he supposed that after yesterday he could deal with anything. Marching all day with a hangover was no easy feat, and he was oddly proud to have accomplished it.

They began moving again not long after he woke. Yesterday, he hadn't said a word the entire march, today he was in a much better mood, and talked a bit with Johns and the rest. Until, of course, Rivers showed up and ruined everything. Jack swore he could kill the man. A single bullet and he'd be free from Rivers' god awful nagging for the rest of his given life. Granted, his given life would be approximately two weeks if he shot Rivers on the spot. That sort of thing was generally frowned upon, he'd heard. Instead, he blatantly ignored Rivers for the remainder of the march.

They arrived at the village after only an hour or so of walking. The scouts that had been sent ahead returned around the time they stopped to regroup for the invasion. It took much longer than Jack had anticipated. Was it longer than usual? Or did it perhaps just feel that way?

Jack could never really be sure. He'd lost sense of time ages ago. He couldn't say he terribly minded the wait- it was a welcome break after the walking, but the men around him seemed to be rather upset about it. Nearly everyone around him was waiting with baited breath. It seemed pointless to him. They'd marched from village to village for at least two weeks and it'd been the same every time. They march in, the French give them anything they want, and then they wait some more. He couldn't see why this village would be any different, unless there were Germans there, in which case, he was glad. It was about time he got to kill some Krauts.

Johns, thankfully, was not one of the worry-warts hanging about. He stood with Jack cracking jokes about booze and broads and everything else. Jack was glad for the distraction. When Johns seemed to have run out of jokes to tell, Jack brought up his thought.

"I fucking hope so!" Johns said. "It's about fucking time we actually do something useful."

"Fuck yeah it is!" he said.

Rivers had heard them talking. "You have no fucking idea what you're talking about," he said.

"Of course we do!" Johns yelled.

Rivers rolled his eyes and walked away.

"Who the bloody hell does he think he is?" Jack asked.

"Your father, apparently."

"My father would've been just as excited as I am," Jack said.

_1976_

"I won't do it!" Phil's voice carried through the house. Lily hoped her Nan didn't hear.

"Dad," Jack pleaded. "You can't keep on like this. You need help."

"Like hell," he spat.

"Phil," Lily's mother had joined the conversation now. "At least take a look at the pamphlets, they're nice places."

"I don't care if it's the bloody Garden of Eden, I won't send her away!"

"Dad, that's not we're trying to do."

"Sure sounds like it."

Nan had carried on about the scene outside and Lily had tuned her out. Lily focused back on her grandmother's kind, worn face and found that she was smiling at her. "Something interesting, dear?"

"No, Nan," Lily replied. "When did you say those trees were planted?"

"Oh, I think it's been quite a while..."

"Dad, she's getting worse."

"I. Don't. Care," Lily had never heard her grandfather's voice so angry. "She took care of me, and I'll be damned if I shove her off on someone else."

"But it's so much unnecessary work," Lily's mother tried to explain. "You could still visit her, but you wouldn't have to worry about her medications or about her falling or anything."

"I've never been one to shove off hard work, Mae," Phil responded.

"Well, at least let someone help you," she implored.

"I am not letting some stranger come into our home!"

"I'll do it," Petunia's voice now entered the conversation. It was timid and shy, different than Lily had ever heard her sister speak before.

"What?" Lily couldn't tell who had asked the question.

"I can come help Granddad with Nan," she said. "I can come over when I'm done with school, and on the weekends, and I could even stay here if you needed."

There was a moment of silence, while it seemed the adults in the room pondered the situation.

"Now that's not a half-bad idea."

Lily sighed, and turned back toward her grandmother. She had stopped talking again, and stared out the window. Lily looked over at the mantel across the room. It held the same pictures it always had. There had been new ones a few times a year while she was younger, but there hadn't been any new additions lately. She looked over them at a distance. She was sure she knew them all by heart: the picture of her family in front of their house, taken when Lily was too young to remember; one of her grandparents on an anniversary; her parents' wedding photo; her grandparents' wedding photo, and portraits of both her father and grandfather in their uniforms, looking sharp and handsome in black and white. Their faces were familiar to her even now, her grandfather's long nose and large lips, her fathers hooked beak and prominent forehead. The greyscale had removed their coloring; Granddad's hair appeared a light grey, though Lily knew it had been red like hers in his prime, and her father's was dark as ever, slicked back and revealing his young face. The pictures didn't show it, but both sets of eyes matched hers almost exactly. Lily rose from the sofa where she sat and walked over to examine them more closely.

Her father didn't keep pictures of himself in uniform. When they visited here, he didn't look at it. She had always enjoyed picturing her father as a young soldier, strong and brave and chivalrous. It was harder to imagine her grandfather in such a way. Surely he _had _been very noble, if the pictures were anything to judge by. She smiled as she looked at the photo.

"He's very handsome, isn't he?" her grandmother had joined her at the mantle.

"Yes, Nan, he is."

"That's my Phil. He was a soldier. Very brave of him, wasn't it?"

"Yes, Nan."

"Such an honor for him to fight for his country, isn't it?"

"Yes, Nan," Lily spoke the words without thinking much of them. She wished Petunia much luck in her quest to aid their grandparents. Lily wasn't sure she could do it.

"It was a terrible war," her Nan went on. "I was a nurse, you know. That's why we got on so well. I knew how horrible the war could be. Most people didn't. I really didn't either, but I saw the men come back and he saw them before they left and we knew how awful it was."

"That's so awful," Lily told her. "Were they in very much pain?"

"Oh yes, awful pain, nearly all the time. We did the best we could for them."

"How terrible," her face fell.

"Such a relief that women don't have to fight, isn't it?"

"Oh yes," Lily responded.

"I don't know that I could stand it. I wasn't sure I could even be a nurse and see the after effects, but I knew I had to because I couldn't very well just do nothing, could I? But I'm ever so glad that you won't have to, Lily dear."

Lily didn't answer. She couldn't bring her mouth to form the words, "But I will." She wanted to say, "But I am." Because she _was_. That exactly what was happening, though the Ministry didn't feel quite fit to call it that, yet. She didn't know how else they could possibly describe it. Just this morning she had read about three new disappearances. All of the Muggleborns or else advocates for them. Two deaths had been reported. It had been a good day.

Dorcas had been the first to call it that, in her column in _The Prophet_. Lily had read it and of course there were no other words for what was happening. Even at Hogwarts she could see it! She had been bullied and attacked in the hallways because of the state of her blood since her very first morning there. She wasn't the only one. It was a war, all right, and it had been raging since her first day at Hogwarts.

Only, she couldn't very well tell her family that. The images they held of war did not align with what was happening. War meant sending your men off, it meant hiding in basements or bomb shelters and shipping your children off to the country. It meant bullets and bombs and barely breathing men. They hadn't fought because they believed in the cause, they had fought because they believed in their country. It was a different matter entirely now. If she told her parents her world was at war, at war about people like her, they wouldn't be too fond of Lily ever going back to it. But she couldn't very well stay in this one, either. This world had never truly accepted her, and would never, if her sister was any indication. And besides, she couldn't _not_ fight. Women had always their place in the war as well. Nurses, like her grandmother, and military jobs, too. They worked in factories while the men were away and they grew gardens to feed themselves, but they were political too. They didn't fight with guns, by any means, but so often they used their words to carry their weapons for them. Her gender had little to do with this war- her magic made her as capable as any man. But her age did.

Well, her father had been sixteen when he ran off to join the army. She'd be sixteen in a few weeks. She thought she might take after him and drop out of school to fight. Only there was no army for her to join. There were no battles over territory, no trenches to die in. There was only killing, senseless killing. The Aurors fought back, she knew, but they wouldn't let her join with no NEWTs, and they certainly wouldn't let her join with now OWLs. So she stayed at school, and she wrote to Dorcas, and sometimes she wrote letters to the editor that were never published.

"I'm glad too," she finally said.

"Glad for what?"

"That I have such a brave grandfather," she said.

"Oh yes," Nan responded.

Lily looked back down at his photograph and wondered what his war had been like. His stories had done a great job in creating a scene for her, but the pictures she viewed were all in black and white, and Lily longed for color.

_1916_

The flare glowed red. Bright and shining, it lit the world around Phil and his comrades, exposing them once again to German fire. As one, they hit the ground, and moved little, scarcely allowing themselves to breathe. They waited for an eternity, until the flare faded out into blackness, and the dark covered them once again. Even then, they remained still, until the risk of discovery had passed, and it was deemed safe to continue moving. They finished their work quickly and sloppily, and crawled back to the trenches as covertly as possible. They all breathed heavy sighs of relief as they made it back safely. It was never guaranteed, and they all counted their blessings upon each return. The trench meant safety. As much safety as they could ever know while on the front. The rumbling of shells in the distance was almost comforting, the dirty holes almost felt like home. They almost let themselves relax when they returned.

Phil reached into his pockets and pulled out a fag. He leaned against the dirt wall and lit up carefully. Hooper joined him. They inhaled the smoke and smiled, the nicotine relaxing them more than they could ever hope to be otherwise. The ends glowed orange, a color much more comforting than the dangerous red of the flares. Orange was safe. Red was death.

"Close, eh?" Hooper said.

"Too close, yeah," Phil said.

"It's like they know when we're leaving."

"They might."

"Do you think?"

"I think it's more than a coincidence that they light flares every time we go out to lay the wire."

"Bad luck, perhaps."

"Bad luck and a bit of knowledge on their part."

"Or maybe good luck for them? Random flaring catches more than none."

"I suppose."

"Let's go get some shut eye, eh?"

"You go," Phil said. "I want another fag."

"Alright then," Hooper responded. "Suit yourself."

Phil nodded as Hooper left and pulled out another one. He struck the match and let the smoke enter his lungs once again. He closed his eyes and rested his head against the wall. The wall vibrated with the landing of the shells, a near constant these days. It seemed like it was rocking him to sleep. The noise grew louder, and Phil embraced it. He could do nothing else. Phil inhaled deeply, and let the nicotine work its sweet magic. He almost didn't notice the increasing vibrations in the wall he leaned against.

"Evans!" Someone shouted. Phil turned to look. There were a lot of Evanses, but it never hurt to check, besides, it was him being yelled at a significant portion of the time. His eyes scanned the horizon until they fell upon the silhouette of Glover running toward him. "What the fuck are you doing?" he yelled again. Evans didn't have time to respond. "Take cover!" he screamed.

Phil didn't take time to respond or acknowledge the command. He followed the order. He turned from where he was and ran as fast as his feet would carry him.

The air breaking against his face brought his senses back to life. It was dark, but he could make out how the dirt was falling into the trenches. He could feel the vibrations throughout his whole body. The screeching of the shells falling through the air was unbearably shrill; the sound of the explosion afterward was much, much worse. He could smell the smoke mingling in the air. Sweat began to drip from his face as he ran, and he gasped aloud as the cigarette he had been holding burned the palm of his hand. It fell to the dirt as he continued running. He cursed himself for ever letting his guard down.

Glover was still some paces behind him, but Phil could hear his huffing and panting and hoped that meant he was safe. He turned his head back quickly to check, and found that Glover was approaching him rather quickly. Phil took this as a sign to run faster.

His chest tightened and a thousand knives pierced his lungs with every breath. He could not stop. He would not stop. The adrenaline rushing through his veins allowed him to ignore it. He thought of nothing but to keep running as fast as possibly could.

And then Phil was flying.

_1976_

The force that projected her through the air took Lily quite by surprise. One moment she had been walking through the corridors, the next, she was hurdling through the air, sprung forward by a great deal of force against her back. She didn't need to guess who was behind the attack.

She hit the ground hard, and it took the breath away. It took a moment for her to recover-precious seconds she could not afford to lose. She began to rise from the floor, but found it difficult to move. It was as if the air around her had become molasses. There was laughter erupting from behind her. Multiple laughs. Of course.

"Look at the Mudblood crawl!" One of them shouted.

"She's so useless, she can't even walk properly!"

"Not entirely useless," one commented. She could hear his meaning in his voice, and for the first time, Lily panicked. She was alone with these boys, and completely defenseless. Sev wasn't with them, and she wasn't sure he would do anything about it if he were.

"Wouldn't want that," the boy said. "Might catch something off her."

The pressure that had been holding Lily back lifted very suddenly and she was able to move freely. She stayed still for a moment, hoping her captors hadn't noticed. Her wand had flown several feet forward, completely out of her grasp. She listened carefully to their voices still debating the merits of raping her or not, and without another moment's hesitation, Lily took off running as fast as she possibly could. It seemed to take Avery and Mulciber by surprise, as they were not able to respond right away. Lily was able to reach her wand and pick it up before they once again started spewing spells at her.

She dodged one flash of light that had been poorly aimed by a flustered Avery. She sent one back at him, successfully disarming him. Avery, on the other hand, was still very much armed. She attempted to dodge the jet black light he sent at her, but did not quite make it, and the light hit her squarely in the shoulder. She could feel the boils painfully erupt on her body. "Conjunctiva!" she yelled. The curse hit him, and Avery yelled out in pain, his hand clasped against his eyes, trying to alleviate the pain.

By now, Mulciber had acquired his wand, and was throwing curses at her with rapid speed. She threw up a shield, which deflected them. It did not last as long as she needed, and eventually, a jelly-legs jinx he had thrown hit her, and she collapsed once again on the floor.

She rose again as quickly as she could, but she could hear Mulciber's footsteps coming closer and his angry rantings as he did so. She could not possibly prepare herself in time. Avery had stopped screaming in pain and was now joining Mulciber in his approach. She wasn't sure what was about to happen, but she was sure it would be something unspeakably terrible. She took a deep breath and braced herself for whatever was coming for her.

"Expelliarmus!" two new voices called from behind her. She looked up to see that her tormentors had been effectively disarmed, then looked back to see who her rescuers had been.

"Taking on Evans by herself?" James Potter said, his voice annoyingly casual.

"Not very fair, is it, Prongs?" Sirius Black asked.

"No, not at all, Padfoot," he shook his head at his friend. "Looks like Evans gave them quite the fight though. Alright there, Evans?"

Lily rose to her feet and nodded, "Fine, thank you."

Avery had slowly begun to walk backwards, in an attempt to retrieve his wand while Potter was distracted. Black, however, did not miss his wanderings, and immediately sent a curse flying at him, knocking him to the ground.

"How dare you?" Mulciber shouted.

"Like this," Black responded, and with another curse, sent Mulciber flying.

Potter gaffed, and Lily couldn't help but laugh as well. "Nice one, Padfoot!" Potter said.

"Why thank you," he gave a little bow. As he rose, a flash of light hit him, and knocked him to the ground.

James responded immediately, sending a curse that made Mulciber's teeth grow rapidly.

This had given Avery enough distraction to retrieve his wand, and send a curse at Potter. Black, by now, was back on his feet, and then, without Lily knowing really what happened, there was light being spewed all around her. When she had regained her composure, she sent up a shield charm between the dueling boys, sending Potter and Black flying backwards. She turned then to the Slytherins, yelled "Stupefy!" twice, and smiled coyly as both bodies hit the floor soundly. She then turned to Potter and Black.

"Hey now," Potter said. "We were just starting to have some fun!"

"Oh, terribly sorry about that," Lily said. "How silly of me to end a fight that started with an attack against me. Daft, really."

"At least you realize it," Black said. "You'll know better for next time."

"Next time I'm attacked by two Slytherins alone I'll be sure to call you," she said. "Wouldn't want you to miss out on all the fun."

"Thank you," Black said with a cheeky grin.

Lily rolled her eyes and began to walk away.

"Evans! Wait!" Potter yelled back at her. She ignored him and kept walking.

She heard his footsteps jogging to catch up to her, and she heard Black rise, chuckling to himself. "Are you okay?" Potter asked when he caught up.

"I'm fine," she snapped.

"Good," he said.

She continued walking.

"You're not cross, surely? Not about this?"

"Oh, I'm quite cross."

"But we-we were helping you!"

"Yes, and I'll thank you for it. Glad I could be of some enjoyment at least."

"You can't take Sirius so seriously," he said. "He was only joking."

"Yes and a very funny joke it was. Ha. Ha."

"Evans, really, we only wanted to help. And don't you dare say you didn't need it, or you didn't ask for it, because you _did_ need it, at least right then you did, and you shouldn't have to ask for help."

"Oh, you'll show up to be my knight in shining armour every time I need it, then? Wonderful."

"What?"

"Nothing."

"I only meant that I don't need to be asked to do the right thing. Especially when the right thing is cursing Slytherins."

"Good to know."

"Evans," he pleaded.

"What?" Lily turned back at him. "Thank you for your help. Really. Thank you. I appreciate it. I don't, however, appreciate the fact that you seem to be making a game out of this, out of me being attacked in the middle of a corridor. I don't really find being cornered by two men who want to do serious harm to me any fun at all, really."

"Oh, right."

She kept walking, and much to her surprise, he kept going with her. "Well, if it's any consolation, you seemed to really do some damage. What curse did you use on Avery's eyes?"

"Conjunctivitis curse."

"Will you teach it to me sometime?"

"Maybe."

"And you know, two against one isn't really fair at all. It was a cheap tactic."

"Effective, though, wasn't it?"

"Evans..."

"What? It was. They were about to get exactly what they wanted. They knew they would, too. Ironic though, isn't it? That they hate me so much because I'm a Mudblood, and I'm meant to be less magical than they are, but they're too bloody cowardly to face me alone."

"They should be though, you're brilliant."

"Of course I am," she said. "I have to be."

He looked confused for a moment, but followed her around the corner and toward the staircase. "Where are we going?"

"_I_ am going to Slughorn's office."

"Why are you going there?"

"Because one of them hit me with boils and I can't exactly go to the Hospital Wing and tell Madame Pomfrey that I was dueling in the corridors. I am a Prefect now, I need to at least have an air of responsibility."

"It wasn't your fault though! They attacked you! Can't you just tell her that?"

"And who will they believe? It will be two against one, as it always is."

"You'd have me and Sirius."

"Ah, but you were only there for the end, weren't you? Didn't see how it started."

"And Slughorn will just give you what you're asking for?"

"Probably."

"Does this happen to you often?"

"More than you would ever possibly believe."

"Why don't you tell anyone?"

Lily scoffed. "They wouldn't believe me. Obviously. And even if they did, it would just make it worse in the long run."

"How do you figure?"

"You're a bully, you tell me."

"I'm not a bully."

"You are the definition of a bully."

"I'm not! I only hex people who deserve it."

"And Severus."

"Deserves it."

"He's never done a thing to you."

"Oh, he's done plenty. He does exist, you know."

Lily looked at him. "You are disgusting. Now if you'll please leave me alone, I really do need to see Slughorn about this potion. He'll ask questions if you follow me in there."

"Are you sure it's safe to walk alone?" he asked. His concern was mocking and cruel.

"I'll take the risk," she said. "Anything they could do to me is better than staying with you another minute."

And with that, she turned and walked into the dungeons. It wasn't much farther to Slughorn's office, and the boils on her shoulder were beginning to ache. She made it there, and as expected, Slughorn gave her the potion without question.

She made her way back up to the dormitory, abandoning the quest she had set out upon when she had left. She could always go to the library some other time, after all, and she'd really like to be in something a bit more comfortable as the boils on her shoulder healed. She began climbing the stairs, her wand drawn now, just in case, and the potion Slughorn had given her in her other hand. He had warned her of the possible side effects, drowsiness, nausea, and a temporary purple tongue, and had said they could be a bit extreme. Best to take it when she was safely back in her dorm, and she could fall asleep if she needed to.

She reached the landing of the staircase where she'd have to switch to another, and began walking that way quickly. There weren't people around, though she could hear some sort of noise coming from around the corner somewhere. She didn't like it. Better to walk quickly and not be caught on her own again.

The noise seemed to get louder as she approached the cross section of the corridor where she needed to turn to make her way to Gryffindor Tower. She turned into it with all the authority she could muster. She was a Prefect now, and she could absolutely put a stop to any of this. Probably. As soon as she stepped into the open corridor a purple flash of light flew by her ear. She dodged it and quickly moved back to press herself against the corridor wall. From there, she leaned over to survey the situation. Much to her dismay, but not very surprisingly, she found Potter and Black, and Lupin and Pettigrew too, dueling with about seven Slytherin students.

She dodged another flash of bright white light by pressing herself against the corridor wall, then took a deep breath, and prepared to enter the fight.

_1940_

The brick wall behind him was the only thing holding Jack upright. He breathed heavily, sweat ran in rivulets down his face. The gun he held was heavy in his hands. Another round of shots began to go off in quite close proximity to him. He turned gun first around the corner and began to shoot back.

He saw the bullets enter the brick, the dust spraying into the air and creating a translucent cloud. He whipped back behind the wall, trying to determine what to do. He had ended up alone here, and he wasn't quite sure how. The Germans had invaded, and chaos had ensued. There had been a plan, at some point, but everyone had forgotten it as soon as the trouble began. His company had scattered. He had followed Johns, at first, and the pair had had progressed forward, thinking it the best way to _finally_ use their guns. They had used them, all right, and then Johns had run out of ammunition and took off running, leaving Jack alone to defend himself. He leaned forward and unleashed another round, hoping this time, that he'd hit his assailant. He hadn't. He was running low on ammunition, and he had to get past this check point. That's where his unit was, and he was sure it would not be long before the captain called retreat.

He sighed as the bullets once again hit the brick wall, and missed the enemy hiding behind it. His pack held a hand grenade, he knew, but he doubted the wisdom of using it. He had only one, and he was not sure when or if he'd be equipped with another. His aim wouldn't be great either, but he wasn't so sure that mattered, really. An explosion is an explosion, and he wasn't concerned what damage it caused, so long as it was far away from him.

He turned and shot one last time, watching the bullets once again sink into unintended targets. Well that settled it. He had to use the grenade. There were no other options. He reached for it on his body, and pulled it out quickly. He examined it briefly before he made to activate it. The steps to using one went through his brain quickly. Pull the firing pin, throw the thing as hard as you possibly could in the direction you wanted it to go, take cover and hope for the best. It wasn't very complicated.

He took a deep breath, steadied his hands, and pulled the pin. He hurled it around the corner in the direction of the shooter he was having it out with. He didn't stop to watch where it ended up, instead he quickly pushed himself back behind his corner and made his way farther in, found a place to take cover, protected his head, and waited for approximately ten seconds until the sound of the exploding grenade found his ears. He waited in his covered position for several moments before rising and examining his surroundings. Nothing seemed to have been out of place around him, so he hesitantly rose to his feet and began to jog back to his position. The building he had been shooting at earlier now had a rather large hole in its side, and there was a lot of dust rising up from the ground.

He still wasn't sure if the German he had been shooting at was dead, but he decided to take his chance while there was cover to be had. He held his gun steady and poised, ready to shoot should the opportunity arise, and ran full tilt into the street.

The dust in the air choked him as he ran, and he could smell the dirt and gunpowder rise up through his nostrils. He moved passed the alley where his enemy had been hiding, but did not stop to see the damage that had been done. Instead, he kept running, as fast as he possibly could. He passed streets upon streets. He hoped beyond hope that there were no snipers atop of buildings or behind corners waiting for him to pass. He even prayed that he would make it through the rubble safely.

He ran straight ahead, for several long minutes, until he realized he actually had no idea where he was going. Where was he, anyway? How had he gotten here? All these stupid fucking French buildings looked exactly the fucking same. How was he supposed to know where he was?

He kept running, straight ahead. He figured he'd either find his troops this way, or else he'd run right into German fire and at least that way he'd die a valiant death. He hoped for the former.

A small cathedral rose up in front of him. _This_ he recognized. They'd lined up here before, hadn't they? And he had seen the steeple as they marched in. Excellent, he was heading in the right direction. Had the commander told him where they should meet in case of an emergency like this? Yes! Yes of course he had. Turn right, and there was the street Jack had spent the past few days living on. He ran down it, still breathing heavily. His ears were ringing, there was more gunfire coming from somewhere, he wasn't sure where. It wasn't ahead of him, it wasn't close enough to hit him, and that was all he needed to know to keep going.

Another left, and there it was! The forest on the edge of town. That was where they were mean to meet. He took a moment. The village was on top of a rather large hill, and the forest lay at the bottom of it. There was a large open gap between the forest and the village. Running into it would expose him entirely, he'd be at complete risk of German fire.

But he couldn't very well stay where he was, now could he? He looked to his left, and he looked to his right, took a deep breath and ran faster than he ever had in his life down the hill.

In his peripheral vision, he noticed that he had apparently inspired several other men to do the same. They ran on either side of him, a handful in both directions, each spaced several yards apart. It wasn't long after he noticed this that the fire started.

He could hear it coming from behind him, aimed at him. But he couldn't very well look back and see what direction it was coming from. He couldn't know whether he was in the direct line of fire. But he knew he had to be close. One of the men off to the left began running in zigzags, hoping to dodge the bullets that way. Another next to him kept straight and then fell; Jack wasn't sure he wanted to know why. The forest was close, and getting closer every minute. If only he could hold out just a few moments longer- and he was sure he could, but he wasn't sure the haze of bullets coming at him had the same idea.

The man directly to his right took a bullet through his head. Jack knew it this time, he could see the blood and brain spatter into the air in the split second before the man fell to the ground. For once, Jack was grateful that Paddy had insisted upon fastening his helmet correctly.

Had that man been wearing a helmet though? Jack thought he might have been. He wasn't sure how much good it would do him. He didn't care to find out, either. Instead, he put his focus on the woods ahead of him. Each stride he took was a fraction closer, and yet it didn't seem as if he would ever make it. Until he did.

He ran across the border of the trees, and kept running. The woods provided him with cover, but not enough for him to feel quite safe until he was deeper inside them. When the world around him was covered in the darkness of shadows, he slowed to a walk and began to catch his breath. Surely his troop would be here somewhere. He stood still for a moment and listened around him. He could still hear the gunshots crying out from the village, and under that, more softly, and closer, he heard the sounds of his comrades: the crunch of the earth beneath their feet as they walked, and, was that radio static?

He followed the sound more closely, walking slowly, in case it was not his comrades at all, but a group of Germans waiting to annihilate him. The static of the radio cut out and he could hear a commander begin to speak. Jack hurried his footsteps, and joined the group.

"Operation Dynamo begins now," the commander said. "We march for Dunkirk at dawn."

* * *

AN: Stef, Ayesha, Todd, Kim, and Kristina are literally the greatest people in the history of the world :)

Please love me. I accept love in the form of reviews.


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